Bound by Blood and Flame

Chapter Seven: What Have You Done?

Lena

I smelled him before I saw him.

Pine. Leather. Firelight.

I stormed into the woods behind my house, heart pounding, hair unbound, Noah on my hip. I didn’t care who saw. I didn’t care if the whole damned pack whispered about me tomorrow.

He’d crossed a line.

I found Luka at the edge of the ridge, staring down at the valley where the river split the land like a scar. He turned when I approached, and his expression faltered the moment he saw Noah in my arms.

Good. Let him feel it.

“You were in my house.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Don’t lie to me, Luka. I felt your presence. You left your scent in Noah’s room.”

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t hurt him.”

“You touched him.”

“I had to know.”

“No, you didn’t!” I took a step closer. “You wanted to satisfy your guilt. Your curiosity. Your pride. You didn’t think about what would happen if Kellan caught you.”

“He almost did,” he admitted quietly.

My knees nearly gave out. “Gods, Luka…”

He looked at me then—not defiant. Not proud.

Devastated.

“I had to be sure,” he said. “And now I am.”

I looked down at Noah, who watched Luka with calm, thoughtful eyes. My son. Our son.

Tears burned my eyes. “And now what? Do you plan to claim him? Rip us out of here? Start a war?”

“No. I plan to protect him.”

“You can’t,” I whispered. “Not from Kellan. Not from the bond. Not unless we run. And you know what happens to wolves who run.”

He stepped forward, lowering his voice. “Then we don’t run. We build. We fight. From the inside. Quietly. Smart.”

I looked at him, truly looking.

He wasn’t the boy I loved. He was a warrior now.

But his eyes-those storm grey eyes—still held pieces of the man who whispered vows under the ash tree.

I pressed my lips to Noah’s hair and turned away.

“Be careful, Luka. If Kellan even sniffs what we know, we all die.”

---

Kellan

Kellan sat in the alpha’s chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

He hated silence. Silence meant secrets. And there were too many whispers in his pack lately.

There are too many sideways glances.

There are too many locked doors.

And Lena—she’d been... different.

Quieter, yes, but not in the submissive way he liked. She was sharper lately. Watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

She had hope.

And hope was dangerous.

Then there was Luka.

The golden warrior, back from his blood-stained tour like a conquering ghost. Walking around like he had a claim to this place. To his pack.

To his woman.

Kellan's wolf snarled just beneath the surface.

He picked up a dagger from the table and began spinning it idly between his fingers.

“You’re hiding something,” he muttered to the empty room.

Then he stood, slid the dagger into his belt, and headed for the west wing.

If his brother wanted secrets, he'd learn that Kellan was a master at uncovering them.

One way or another.